Two weeks passed faster than Ryan expected.
He thought it would feel like forever being stuck on a ship—but it didn't. Not with so much to learn.
Elandor's lessons were structured but never dull. Ryan absorbed everything like a sponge, and when something didn't make sense, he'd invent his own methods—relating words to emotions, mimicking the crew's tones, linking sounds to situations. He listened in on conversations, picked up gestures, watched body language.
Elandor was quietly impressed.
"You learn faster than most grown apprentices," he said once, genuinely surprised. "You might be haggling with a shopkeeper in Valewind before you even step off the dock."
Ryan beamed at that.
Valewind—their destination. A vast city in the easternmost reaches of Caelondia, ruled by a human king known more for his reforms than his pride. Elandor spoke of it with fondness: grand harbors, markets that stretched for miles, and towers carved with runes that shimmered at night.
Ryan couldn't wait to see it.
His parents, though, found the language harder. Harwin fumbled the softer syllables, while Mira grew frustrated with grammar and structure. But Ryan's enthusiasm drove them forward. He would help them during meals, whisper corrections, repeat words gently until they stuck.
And when Elandor was occupied—Ryan practiced with the crew. They teased him like a younger brother and encouraged him when he slipped.
He learned their nicknames, their favorite jokes, even the rhythm of their work songs. Some told him stories of other ports they'd seen. Others just smiled at his efforts and gave him tips.
Days rolled by—some bright, some stormy. The sea churned, the ship creaked, but Ryan remained steady in his pursuit.
And slowly, the sounds of Caelondia were becoming his own.
The day had finally arrived.
It was just past noon when Ryan heard Elandor call out his name from the upper deck. The tone was louder, livelier than usual.
"Valewind's in sight!"
Ryan nearly tripped racing up the stairs.
He rushed to the railing, heart thudding as wind whipped past his face. And there it was.
Valewind.
A vast coastline stretched out ahead, its scale dwarfing anything he had ever imagined. The ship beneath him—so colossal in Dunlowe's little port—felt suddenly small. Tiny silhouettes of towers and masts pierced the sky along the shore. He could make out outlines of ships—being docked, built, or repaired. Structures clustered along the coastline—some like homes, others shops, warehouses, or something entirely unknown.
His parents soon joined him, walking at their own pace, smiling softly as they watched Ryan grip the rail in awe. Mira rested a hand on his shoulder, while Harwin gave a silent nod toward the approaching city.
Elandor stood nearby, a glint of pride in his eye as he began explaining the layout of Valewind from this distance—pointing toward the spires of what he claimed was the royal palace, then to a large stone manor built into the side of a hillside near the city's east wing.
"My estate," he said casually, "overlooks the eastern trade route. Best view in the district."
Ryan blinked. "You have a mansion?"
Elandor only smirked. "You'll see."
As they drew closer, the city slowly took shape. Buildings of stone and slate emerged clearly now, dockhands moving cargo, crewmen shouting commands, gulls circling overhead. He even began to see people—tiny figures from afar. Too small to tell if they were all human, but he could feel the pulse of a city that never truly slept.
Finally, Elandor gave the command to drop anchor.
A short while later, a sleek boat approached from the port. A man, older than Elandor but not by much, stepped aboard with a handful of guards in deep-blue tunics and silver-plated armor. The guards flanked him with relaxed discipline—not aggressive, but alert.
Elandor disembarked first.
Ryan watched closely as the guards bowed to him.
The portmaster stepped forward and greeted Elandor like an old friend. Their handshake was firm, their conversation warm and familiar. The contrast to the chaos of Dunlowe's escape could not have been clearer. There were no weapons raised. No fear. No suspicion.
Just respect.
Elandor turned briefly and signaled to the deck.
"Come on," he called.
His crew began to unload the cargo with practiced ease.
Ryan's feet twitched—he wanted to run, to step onto the foreign soil, to say he'd arrived. But Mira gently held his arm back, unsure.
They were still wearing the same plain Zeronthalian clothes. Elandor had warned them he didn't have appropriate attire for them, but said it wouldn't matter in a city like Valewind. "Too busy to care what a stranger's wearing," he'd said.
Still, Mira and Harwin hesitated. They kept their distance, uncertain of how they'd be seen—refugees from a kingdom across the sea.
But Elandor turned and beckoned them forward again.
When they neared, he gestured grandly. "This is Harwin," he said. "An old friend from far east. And this is his family."
Ryan blinked in surprise.
Harwin, too stunned to speak, could only nod.
The portmaster stepped forward and took Harwin's hand firmly. "Welcome to Valewind," he said. "Any friend of Archon Veylin is a friend of Valewind."
Mira's mouth opened slightly. Archon? She heard that it was the title of a powerful mage.
Elandor chuckled. "Oh, don't let them call me that. I'm not a Royal mage anymore," he added, waving a hand.
But the guards straightened a little more at the title. The portmaster simply smiled.
"You might not be a royal mage," he said, "but you'll always be welcome at my port."
Mira's grip on Ryan eased, and Harwin gave Elandor a long, silent look—one full of gratitude.
Elandor returned it with the same calm confidence he always carried. Not boastful. Just… certain.
And with that, Ryan took his first step onto Caelondian soil. The wooden planks beneath him felt strange—too clean, too polished. The scent of salt was the same, but the air carried something else too—spice, smoke, life.
He looked up.
And his breath caught.
Valewind.
It rose like a layered painting before him—stone buildings stacked in graceful arcs along the sloping coast, their rooftops tiled in shades of silver and green. Towering spires pierced the skyline in the distance, some shaped like spears, others like open petals. Canals glittered between streets like veins of light, and bridges spanned them with delicate elegance.
Everywhere, there was motion—people shouting orders, carts creaking under crates, children darting between barrels, banners flapping above market stalls. Ships docked, unloaded, and departed again in a seamless rhythm.
It wasn't chaotic like Dunlowe. It was alive. Grand. Measured. Purposeful.
Ryan stood still, just taking it all in. His old life—muddy roads, crumbling wood, and narrow futures—had never seemed so far away.
This… was a city built on possibility.
And he had arrived.
Once they stepped off the dock, a luxurious carriage awaited them.
It gleamed like polished obsidian, trimmed with deep blue velvet and brass fittings that shimmered in the sunlight. Two sleek, silver-maned horses stood proudly at the front, already harnessed and waiting.
Ryan blinked.
It looked like something out of a noble's fairytale.
Before he could say anything, Elandor stepped forward and opened the door himself—first offering a respectful hand to Mira, then helping Ryan up like he was royalty. Harwin stood awkwardly beside them, unsure if he was meant to ride or follow.
"Get in," Elandor said, amused. "You're not walking."
Harwin gave a grunt, almost embarrassed, and climbed aboard last.
Inside, the seats were plush and lined with soft leather. Mira and Ryan sat together on one side, Elandor and Harwin on the other. The windows were tall and narrow, and unfortunately for Ryan, too high for him to peek out of without standing.
He tried anyway—craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the city rushing past.
"No luck?" Elandor asked with a grin.
Ryan pouted and shook his head.
"Apologies," Elandor said lightly. "I should've had a higher seat installed."
They all laughed—even Mira, whose nerves were starting to ease.
The carriage rumbled forward with a light jolt as the Coachman cracked the reins. Elandor leaned back, relaxed as ever.
Harwin, glancing out the window, turned back with a grateful expression. "I… don't even know how to—"
"Don't," Elandor interrupted gently. "You're my guests. Until you've found your footing here, you're my responsibility. That's not something I say lightly."
Harwin sat back, swallowing his thanks.
Then Mira spoke up, curious. "The portmaster… he called you Archon. What does that mean?"
Elandor chuckled. "A ceremonial title, really. Bestowed by kings of Caelondia upon those who reach a certain magical tier—nothing much to it."
They exchanged glances.
None of them knew what a certain tier meant—but the way he said it, as if it were no big deal, told them everything.
He was something far beyond the mages they'd seen at Dunlowe's port.
"Explains the sea wall," Harwin murmured under his breath.
Elandor smiled but said nothing.
"I'm looking forward to introducing you all," he added after a moment. "Especially Ryan. My daughter's a year older than him—sharp girl. She'll be thrilled."
Mira raised a brow. "You have a wife? And a daughter?"
"We're full of surprises, Mira," Elandor said in common with a wink.
They all chuckled again.
Even the language felt easier now. Ryan could understand nearly everything said in Common, though he still had to pause before forming his own sentences. His parents were slower, more hesitant—but watching their son speak gave them courage.
Time slipped by.
The ride grew quieter as the roads changed—smooth stone beneath the wheels, then a winding path lined with hedges and elegant iron lamps.
Ryan pressed against the window, straining to see—but the frame was too tall.
He groaned quietly.
From his parents' expressions, something breathtaking was just ahead.
Then, the carriage slowed… and stopped.
Moments later, the coachman stepped down and opened the door. With a bow, he offered his hand to Mira. She took it carefully and stepped out, eyes still wide. Ryan followed eagerly, stumbling slightly on the step.
Then came Elandor and Harwin.
And at last—Ryan saw it.
The Veylin Estate.
A grand, multi-tiered manor stretched across the hilltop, built of pale stone that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Vine-covered arches framed the entrance, and marble columns supported wide balconies overlooking flowering gardens and distant rooftops. At the heart stood a tower with a silver roof, its windows catching the sky like mirrors.
Water ran through sculpted channels around the estate, creating quiet streams and fountains that hummed with enchantment. Paths curved like ribbons through beds of exotic plants, and statues—some human, some not—lined the walkways like silent guardians.
It wasn't just a mansion.
It was otherworldly.
Ryan stood frozen, mouth slightly open.
He finally whispered, "This… this is your house?"
Elandor grinned. "Welcome to Veylin Estate, Ryan."